


(Secretly)

by Path



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those times you and Spades Slick get together turn into one big struggle for control, and whichever guy gets it was just the guy who had the worst week. You guess losing control is just as important, but the question is, does Slick think so too?</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Secretly)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sannam](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sannam).



> For Sannam, loosely based on this picture (http://sannam.tumblr.com/post/9231023388/today-was-a-crappy-day-ergo-i-stop-caring-about) because I will not allow her pictures to go without a couple thousand words attached.

There's a lot about Spades Slick you hate.

He's sharp and angry and has a lot of issues, and you mean a lot. He's constantly compensating for his height (short) and his build (skinny) and his relationship with Snowman (many years of aggressive games at each other's expense). He is a lot more trouble than he's worth sometimes.

But then sometimes the sharpness and anger and issues get sort of shoved aside, and those times are what the two of you are really about. He gets smug and satisfied around you, because if he feels incompetent and frustrated around the world, he just watches you work for awhile and feels better about himself. You're bigger than him, sure, but he can control you anyhow. It's not that he really does. You just let him so he can feel good about himself, and because (secretly) you kind of like it.

You like having Spades Slick around telling you what to do. You like having him pushing you around and giving you orders. You really like having him straddling your chest like this and holding your wrists down on your desk, and you don't even know why, you just do. There's something about his sheer glee, being in control, this one place in his entire life where he is. For you, it's not so different from the rest of your life. You're never in control. Your life is just this cascade that happens around you. But Spades Slick needs this.

You don't usually understand his need to control everything. You just let life take you where it will and do whatever comes to mind, because the world is a confusing place and it's a lot easier just to let it do what it wants than to try to work your will on it. But once in awhile, you get it. Once in awhile (like now), you get a little more out of control than you do out of obedience, and that's when you fight him. You throw him off and shove him down to the desk and his struggles knock off what's left of your phone. You grab him, seize fingers into his hair, and pull him to you. There's a sort of strangled sound out of him that gets cut off when your mouths lock together.

For some time, some time you're not sure how long, it's just that, moving mouths together and placing your noses side by side and low groans starting to emerge like paper singeing from the center out. This is what happens a lot. There's a long time where you don't see each other and then sort of a slow dance of insults and infuriation, in which he is more than casually cruel to you and you are more than intentionally ignorant. Eventually one of you gets fed up with the escalating challenges and breaks. Then there's a couple of minutes of flurried wrestling for control, and then things sort of settle in, like this.

Then there's another flurry of activity. You're the first to break the kiss this time and as soon as you do, you're both struggling out of your clothes, shucking your coat off, suspenders off your shoulders. Slick throws his jacket across the room and it drapes itself over your file cabinet.

"Hey, you're finally hanging up your clothes," you say as you strip your shirt off. "Droog'd be proud."

"Shut the fuck up about Droog," Slick tells you. His smirk turns into a scowl, briefly, and that's pretty much Slick's entire range of expression right there. His teeth part with his sarcastic look, and you are for a moment entranced by them. What a terrifying row of shark teeth, you've never seen anything like it. This guy is a monster.

You're alright with that. Today he's going to be your monster, because it's one of those days where you want to exert some control over something. There's been a long string of puzzle shit and it was a hassle just getting up to your office at all this morning. These sorts of times with Slick are tense and painful and dizzying but at the same time, sort of relaxing. The two of you are just honest with each other, and it's not something you can really count on getting anywhere else. You know the other one is here because you're going to fuck without all the stupid games that come along with it, that he's not going to manipulate you afterwards, that you've pretty much just got an understanding and that's that.

You could wish you'd made this arrangement with someone less prone to violence and without a piranha maw, but really, that's part of the deal. You've got one of his wrists pinned to the desk now, because Slick likes having something to push against, and he's got the other fist bunched in your hair, and he's rutting up against you. Impatient asshole, didn't even wait for you to get your pants off. His expression shifts rapidly back into that grin when he realizes you're pissed, and you've never seen a more gleeful, malicious expression. He knows he aggravates you and he just waits to see what you'll do about it, because either way he's just going to aggravate you more.

Goddammit, you wish he wasn't so hot when he's being a complete dick. But there's something about that confidence he gets fucking around with you. He walks through life spring-loaded and ready to fire, shoulders tensed up around his ears and a temper like a cornered cat. It's only around you he lets go of it, and that relaxed smirking comfortable version of Slick is the one that turns you on so much. Powerful. He can sit back and know that you're going to do what he wants, grinning his demon smile. He looks like a madman in the late afternoon light, hair tousled into a hurricane, eyes glinting like that little silver ring in his ear.

Funny you think of it, you were just sinking your teeth in around that ring and playing it around on your tongue. Slick's hips jump against you and he lets out a hissed curse that devolves instantly and incomprehensibly into moaning with your tongue in his ear. You grab him by his wild hair and force him to arch his back, baring his neck, and you bite that, too, though softer, and lick long trails up to his jaw. Slick is pressing his free hand into the desk and pawing at it, straining into you.

Maybe Slick's not getting his control today at all. He's just going to have to live with that. You're getting too much out of the top side of things today. You'll reduce him to a mess on your desk (which, you realize belatedly, you're going to have to clean up, but you'll sleuth that problem later) and by this point, he's just going to take it. You wrap a hand around his cock and squeeze, but don't move further, just testing, and he throws his head back and his hips into your hand. Your position in today's tussle is pretty much cemented.

You decide to enjoy it, because next time you'll be the one on the desk. And next time, you doubt Spades Slick is going to put this much thought into it. Slick is pretty much intent on getting himself off, and after that, anything else is your problem. It's a bit of a race that way, trying to draw out Slick so you can finish first, just to make sure you do, in fact, finish, because that guy does not consider anything about his partner. It's just another challenge in the never-ending cascade of them that is Spades Slick. He's not nothing but trouble. He just seems that way when you look at it all together. If you stacked up all the aggravating and dangerous things about Slick you'd have a tower of problems to the moon and back. Circle the globe seventeen times.

He's rigid in your hand, his entire body is tensed across your desk. You're real glad you invested in a proper desk because the one made of particle board was not meant to hold more than a cup of coffee and your phone. Not that your new desk is holding your phone either. It's in a broken pile on the floor and emitting a low buzz from the receiver, which you're mostly just surprised is still working. Anyhow if you leave it for much longer Slick is going to come all over you and your fancy load-bearing desk and then you'll be left with a couple of problems, all of which you're going to have to deal with on your own.

You slow down, even though Slick hisses at you to do the complete opposite, and fumble around your belt with your other hand. Why is it so hard to do two things at once? You guess you have a hard enough time doing one thing well, so it takes a minute to get your belt undone, your fly down, and your cock out, but you manage admirably given that Slick's got one hand around your wrist and is trying to force you to finish him off.

That's pretty much his way. You're used to it by now. Just got to keep on doing your own thing and ignore him, play his own game, because Slick thinks of Slick first, and you second at best, if he thinks of you at all. Some days, that's fine, you're tensed and turned-on enough that it doesn't matter and you both get out fine. But some days he's like this, and you know you've got to stop focusing on him or he'll just take everything you've got and keep taking. On this sort of occasion, it is really rewarding fucking him, because he's going nowhere, and even he knows it.

He just arches against the desk, his skinny chest thrust in the air like it'll help him breathe, while you steady your hand on the desk and on his shoulder and slowly start rocking into him. Your breath is catching, and you don't have a whole lot of control left in you so you're pretty relieved Slick isn't going anywhere now. You're having a hard enough time standing and leaning against your desk, you don't know how you'd do if you had to wrestle him right now.

Fuck he feels amazing clenching down on you. His monster teeth are gritted and his fists are clenched. You've driven him back into his usual tension and past that, and you pierce into that and just make it worse. Soon, you know, the two of you will collapse into a pile of relief and relaxation, but right now he is tight and wired around you and it's the best thing your trembling mind can really come up with at the moment.

He grips a hand around his dick again, and he's starting to pump it and pull himself to a conclusion. You're not a hundred percent on that one. You still have a ways to go, though maybe not as much as you'd thought, because god, this is pretty much just what the doctor ordered. Still, better make sure it continues that way. You grab his hands by his skinny wrists, shove them together and down to his chest, and just hold them there. His mouth lets out a litany of curses at you and his cock jumps against you as you hit into him, but his struggles mostly just feel really great, so you're not inclined to let him go right now.

Then you just focus on getting yourself off. What would Spades Slick do? You do the same thing, just with duller teeth. You're almost there, so close, and finally you let go of Slick's hands and grab the opposite edge of the table over his shoulders. You grip onto that while Slick starts pumping himself again, and just slam into him another time, twice, three times, and then you're done. Your eyes lose focus and roll up in your head, and your knees want to give out. "Ffffffuuuuuuccck, Slick," you moan, words shaking out of you in pieces.

It's all you can do not to collapse on top of him. You manage to support yourself above him and somehow find the energy to wrap your hand around his and bring him grunting to a finish. You extract yourself, pry Slick's legs off from around you, and just fall backwards into your office chair, pants loose around your legs.

You just blank out there for a couple minutes before Slick gets himself off your desk and starts tracking his clothes down. "Fuck," he says, with a look of dreamy comfort on his pointy face, "that was alright, I guess."

He always does this, pretends afterwards like it was nothing, like he didn't come howling underneath you with your cock buried in him and curl into a pile of trembling helplessness for minutes afterwards. You treat it the same way you do all of Slick's neuroses, which is that you ignore it entirely. "Yep, thanks for stopping by," you say.

Slick buttons his pants up and starts strapping knives back on, and by this time you've got your shirt back on and are slipping your suspenders and shoulder holster on too. You feel like a million spondulicks. You could climb Kingpin Tower and run the Ham Circuit. Spades Slick doesn't look half bad either.

You figure you will just leave your ruin of an office right as it is and deal with it tomorrow, and that the two of you will head out for drinks and to scarf down cheap Chinese takeout, and then you'll go about your business until the next time you run into each other and he can't refrain from taking a few potshots at each other. Just to see how tense you are, just to see how you'll react. And then you'll pretend like he's being a nice guy and you'll blindly and happily return the favour.

Eventually, one of you will crack open, and whichever one that is, whoever had the worst week, that'll be the guy on the top, the guy who needs that control. You're not really concerned that it has to be you. In fact, it's a whole lot more likely it'll be Slick. But you keep it in mind, because as much as you hate the guy sometimes, there aren't a whole lot of better things in the world than what you just did to him. So you guess you can understand that need for control sometimes. It's just as rewarding as losing it, as it turns out.

And, like you, you think he (secretly) likes it.


End file.
